


The blue meaning of life

by Zombieheroine



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gladiators, Moral Ambiguity, Pits of Kaon, Politics, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieheroine/pseuds/Zombieheroine
Summary: Prompt: Orion watching one of Megatronus' gladiator fights.The freshly acquainted friends Orion Pax and Megatronus meet for the first time, and there's something Megatronus can't put to words so he shows it instead.





	The blue meaning of life

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [The blue meaning of life中文版](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382100) by [assisapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/assisapple/pseuds/assisapple)



> This was a prompt given to me [on Tumblr](http://zombieheroine.tumblr.com/). I've written about Pits of Kaon in three fics already, and I'm more than happy to return to the subject.
> 
> This ended up pretty gen and could be read as such, but since I'm a shipper and that's what I mean, I'm tagging it among my other works.

Visiting Kaon had been a terrible, wonderful idea, Orion had known that already when he had boarded the train trembling with excitement, and he knew it now when he was finally here, by his new friend's side. 

Megatronus was almost exactly like he had imagined, only _more_.   
Now that they weren't restricted by only letters and they could just let the words flow, there seemed to be no end to the chatter: They had to talk about anything and everything, and they blabbered on uninterrupted as Megatronus led the way through the network of streets and alleys, the crowd parting for his big frame and commanding EM-field almost like they were alone on the streets. 

“If every one is an individual, then naturally what follows is that every individual's value is the same. It must be a constant,” Orion explained. 

Megatronus shook his helm to him while elbowing them a path across a busy traffic lane. “Not necessarily, my friend,” he argued back, “just because each individual has a unique set of features doesn't mean that those features cannot be valued differently. Standards don't necessarily come from within, they are constant in the world around us.”

“But the culture is made up by and of individuals! All parts of our culture that classify us, assigning numbers to our worth or names to our functions are of this current system, which is the one we must go against,” Orion replied. 

“I mean also outside our culture,” Megatronus said. “The laws of physics for example, they exist the same for us all, always have and always will whether our species or our world even exists or not. Those are the standards, my friend, no ideology either theirs or ours will reach those and that's why they are the standards.”

“They don't change, I agree, but we still decide what we think about them,” Orion answered as they continued along a curved walking street towards the heart of the city. “We can't change the universe, but we do decide what value we place on its parts.”

Now Megatronus didn't argue back anymore, but he did give Orion a curious look that told him he still had something to say. Uncharacteristically he seemed to be at loss with words and now taking a tactical step back to reform his point. Orion held the strong gaze effortlessly, eagerly and without a single flicker of an optic; he wanted to know. 

Finally Megatronus seemed to come to a conclusion and put a servo on Orion's shoulder-guard, his large talons careful on his thin plating. 

“Let me show you what I mean,” was all Megatronus said before he took a surprising turn, and Orion hurried to follow him. 

The Pit didn't only live up to the rumors but exceeded them easily. The air was thick with electricity that was more in the atmosphere than anything else, and the bright dramatic neon signs and spot lights left the audience and the corners of the stands in deep darkness illuminated only by the biolights on the mecha seated there. The audience stands rose like large stone stairs around the arena, and in the middle of them down below was the Pit, the Death Arena, the Damnation, filled with smooth, glimmering black sand. 

Orion didn't belong in the crowd but blended in almost too well: he was smaller than any Bad-Landers there and blander than any high-caste mecha coming to enjoy the blood-sport, and among them he was so inconspicuous that it was a miracle that no one sat on him. He wondered if this was thanks to Megatronus, because he found his assigned seat in the champion's corner vacant and no one stopped or questioned him when he sat there even though he got many looks. 

Watching a pit fight made Orion's plating crawl. First this evening were the matches for criminals to fight for their freedom or be executed, against each other or against professional gladiators, a rather clumsy display but a good warm-up for the audience. Only after them the multi-faced score board above the Pit turned on and showed a point score with names, and then professional gladiators stepped into the arena. The bets were off and the ranked fights began, first for teams and pairs, and only after those came the long-awaited one-on-ones. 

The crowd roared, credits changed servos as energon was spilled in the Pit, and through it all Orion thought only one thing: “This is wrong.” Was this the core of their culture? Was this the venting of the frustrations of their kind? Mecha watching others tearing each other apart for credits and the fallen ones hauled off as scrap and spare parts, already forgotten? The arena of black sand was like the sparkless optic of death staring back at him.

This couldn't be right.

And then, finally, came the moment everyone had apparently been waiting for, the jewel of the event and the reason for showing up at all for those who didn't have credits to bet: The top tire of gladiators stepped on the sands. 

These were the twenty mecha who had fought their way up through the ranks and still functioned, the fastest, strongest, meanest killing machines the Bad-Lands had to offer. Each one got a single feature with their designation announced, but no one else got a response like Megatronus did, featured last but the crowd roaring the loudest. The champion, the Terror of Kaon. 

Orion watched Megatronus spreading his arms, a sword in one servo and a shield in another, basking in the promised praise and glory, and he felt a new feeling settling in his tank: fear. The champion always fought until his termination.

The gladiators fought only one on one, and Megatronus was facing all of them. Orion felt his spark first freezing and then burning hotter than it needed to when he watched. The possibility of immediate and final termination became startlingly real when the first fight broke out, and the fear never eased its hold on him even when his friend fought and won one match after another. 

Death would be final. That gaping void, the nothingness waiting for them was here, and Orion felt it touching him, reminding him that here it was, ever-present and all powerful, and down in the pit his dear friend was toying with it. 

The black sand glowed where energon hit it, soaked and messy as the gladiators wrestled and stumbled in it. Megatronus struck and slashed with his sword and protected his front and flank with the shield. He moved fast and nimble for a mech of his size and he attacked relentlessly, never forced back and seemingly never tiring. Energon splattered and his unpainted, modest gray armour was dripping with it, and when he finally won the last of the matches he threw his arms open and received thunderous applause and cheers from the audience as the blue fuel ran down his steaming frame, and Orion understood that Megatronus wasn't Kaon's favorite only because of his fighting skills but also because of how he presented. 

It was like he had defeated death for all of them. 

The arena started to slowly empty as the crowd poured out into the night in search of drinks and other distractions, but Orion followed Megatronus' instructions into the maintenance tunnels and the catacombs running below the arena. Again he was made to feel like an honoured guest of some sort since he could just walk through doors, gates were lifted for him and no one questioned his presence even once before he stepped into a large hall filled with medical berths, loitering gladiators and other staff, and a big pile of scrap by the gateway to the hallway leading to the arena. 

Nine of the gladiators were being patched up, five of them were nowhere to be seen, five of them had joined the scrap pile, and Megatronus stood in the middle of the room, waiting for Orion. 

He looked larger now, both because of the low ceiling and the blue stains on his armour that he was casually wiping clean with a rag when he nodded to Orion and gestured him towards him. 

“This is the nature of our existence, my friend,” Megatronus said to Orion once he stood in front of him. “All of us are fine warriors and we all come from the ranks of the strongest there are. And yet we obey metal, just like any one of us, if it catches us.”

Orion stared up to his friend, firm and without a flicker even though the smell of processed energon was making his tank turn. 

Megatronus gave him a small smile and spread his arms to show the new scratches and the freshly welded wounds on his chassis. “Metal didn't command me today. I get to be me yet another solar cycle again. Do you get my point now?”

Orion wanted to keep arguing, to tell his friend what he had seen in the bottom of the Pit and in the mirror when he had looked, how afraid he had been and how horrifying all this seemed, but all that left his vocalizer was: “I'm happy that you're okay.”


End file.
